All this might not have been so clear to me at that time, when I was disputing with my father on the topic of peace and war; it was not till later on that I had accustomed myself to follow with attention the movements of the intellect in my own and other people’s heads. I only recollect that I always came away from these discussions in the highest degree fatigued and excited, and I now see that this fatigue proceeded from this “pursuing in a circle” which my father’s way of argument necessitated. The conclusion was, however, every time a compassionate shrug of the shoulders on his part, with the words: “You do not understand that”; words which, as he was treating of military matters, sounded certainly very well deserved in the mouth of an old general as addressed to a young lady.
New-Year’s Day, 1866. We were all sitting, with our punch and New-Year’s cakes, assembled round my father’s table when the first hour of this eventful year struck. It was a cheerful feast. We celebrated an engagement with the end of the old year—Conrad and Lilly’s. As the hand pointed to twelve, and a feu de joie was fired in the street, my enterprising cousin threw his arm round the young lady, who was sitting beside him, pressed, to the surprise of us all, a kiss on her lips, and then asked:—
“Will you take me in ’66?”
“Yes, I will,” she replied, “and I love you, Conrad.”
Then followed on all hands a clinking of glasses, embracing, handshaking, felicitations, and blessings without end.
“The health of the lovers,” “Long live Conrad and Lilly,” “God bless your union, my children,” “Heartfelt congratulations, cousin,” “Happiness to you, sister,” and so on, and so on. A joyful and peaceful frame of mind took possession of us all. Perhaps not quite free of envy in all, for as Death represents the most mournful and most lamentable of events, so love—the love which is sanctioned by the life-giving union—is the most joyful and the most enviable. I indeed could detect no trace of envy in myself, for the happiness which had only just become a promise to the new bride8 had long since been my actual and firm possession; it was rather a feeling of doubt that crept over me. “Such perfect bliss as was prepared for me by Frederick can hardly fall to poor Lilly’s lot. Conrad is, it is true, a very amiable man, but there is but one Frederick.”
My father brought to an end the tumult of congratulations by tapping on his glass with the signet ring on his little finger and rising to speak. He spoke somewhat to this effect: “My dear children and friends, the year ’66 begins well. To me it is bringing in its very first hour the fulfilment of a cherished wish, for I have long looked forward to having Conrad for my son-in-law. Let us hope that this prosperous year may also bring our Rosa under the yoke, and to you, Martha and Tilling, a visit from the stork. To you, Doctor Bresser, may it bring many patients, though this as far as I see hardly goes with the many wishes for good health that we have all been exchanging; and to you, dear Mary, may it present (that is, provided that it has been destined for you, for I know and honour your fatalism) a pitched battle or a plenary indulgence, or whatever it is that you are wishing for. You, my Otto, may it endow with eminent ‘distinction’ in your final examination, and with all possible soldierly virtues and acquirements, so that you may one day become the ornament of the army and the pride of your old father. And to the latter also I must try and get something good to come; and since he is one who knows no higher wish than for the good and the glory of Austria, I hope the coming year may bring some great conquest to the country—Lombardy, or—who knows?—the province of Silesia. One cannot tell to what all this is preliminary, but it is by no means impossible that we may take back again from the insolent Prussians that country which was stolen from the
